er."

"Good-bye," answered the woman; and whispering softly she added: "And
as we shall not meet again, I must thank both you and your wife."

"But what for?"

The invalid was silent for a moment, then she replied: "Well, when
one's own house has always been a perfect hell, one learns to
appreciate the peace and quiet of others. At least, it helps one to see
there is something better than one's own lot."

The sergeant was silent. What could he say to the unhappy woman?

"So, good-bye, Herr Schumann!" she went on. "I sincerely wish you
well!"

Schumann breathed more freely as the door closed behind him. He felt
deeply for the poor woman, and was relieved to have got over the
parting from her.

With the giving up of the key the last cord was loosened which had
bound him to the battery and to the military life as a whole.
Everything else had already been done.

The evening before there had been a small _fete_, to which the captain
and the two subalterns had invited him and all the non-commissioned
officers of the battery. Then in the morning, in the presence of the
officers, including the colonel, and before all the men of the
regiment, the good-service cross, which the king had granted him, had
been handed him by the commanding officer; he had also received
permission to wear his old uniform at any patriotic festivities.
The colonel had spoken of him warmly as a pattern soldier, and had
concluded with a cheer for the emperor and the king. Then the
sergeant-major had requested that he, on his side, might be allowed to
say a few words; and with a voice which failed many times he led a
cheer for the beloved regiment, and especially for the splendid sixth
battery. Afterwards handsome presents were given him: from Wegstetten
and the two lieutenants a beautiful gold watch; from Major Schrader a
heavy gold chain for it; from the non-commissioned officers an album
with views of the town and the barracks, and with photographic groups
of officers, non-commissioned officers, men, and horses. Finally, the
commanding officer presented to him that service sabre which he had
worn for ten long years, to be now his own private property.

He had only been able to thank them by a silent grasp of the hand, for
fear that if he spoke he would begin to cry like a girl. Afterwards he
had also said farewell to all the men. So now he was ready and could
go.

It was about half an hour before the time for the afternoon drill. As
Schuma